


I Had No Cares

by cherishiskisa



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Hand & Finger Kink, KIND OF but i feel like that will raise y'all's expectations, M/M, Piningjolras, i don't really know i mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:45:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishiskisa/pseuds/cherishiskisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He comes to meetings with Band-Aids on his fingertips.</p><p>Enjolras always wonders.</p><p>And he never knows what to ask. Or even how.</p><p>But he watches Grantaire’s long fingers, bandaged at the tips, drumming on tabletops and tracing along the rims of glasses and he burns to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Had No Cares

**Author's Note:**

> i found this in my drafts and thought "o hey this will be a good way to waste time instead of writing the next letter series for swak" so here you go  
> title taken from the wombats song 1996  
> i hope you enjoy-- pls. leave a review on here or send me thoughts on my tumblr.com which is stonertaire, because i thrive off hte feedback!! kiss kiss

He comes to meetings with Band-Aids on his fingertips.

Enjolras _always_ wonders.

And he never knows what to ask. Or even how.

But he watches Grantaire’s long fingers, bandaged at the tips, drumming on tabletops and tracing along the rims of glasses and he _burns_ to know.

Bahorel slides easily into the chair beside him and their shoulders brush; Enjolras watches them banter and he watches Bahorel grab Grantaire’s wrist to inspect his fingers, and he strains to hear what they’re saying.

Maybe Grantaire is diabetic, and he’s constantly taking blood sugar tests?

That seems so unlikely (not to mention improbable, considering how many sugary cocktails he consumes).

But it would explain a few other things about him.

Other options go through Enjolras’ mind, but he dismisses them all. He’s never really seen Grantaire do much of anything, really, and even if he did do things that were mildly constructive, they probably wouldn’t have him ending up with bruised or cut or burnt or God-knows-what fingers.

He watches, though. He watches Grantaire, as he’s been catching himself doing more and more in recent times.

Grantaire’s fingers are long, slightly tanned, almost musical-- and they have Band-Aids wrapped around the tips. Left hand index, middle, and ring. Right hand thumb, index, and middle.

He comes to meetings with Band-Aids on his fingertips for _weeks_ , and Enjolras continues to always wonder.

Enjolras formulates questions in his mind. “So… why the bandages?” “Should I be worried about the other guy?” “Have you been playing with fire again?” “You know that experimenting with bleach can permanently damage your skin, right, and even lead to skin cancer?” (He’s come up with some pretty crazy theories for Grantaire’s fingertips. He doesn’t know why he can’t get it out of his head.)

He’s just sitting at his usual table in the back room of the Musain, waiting for the rest of Les Amis to amble in so he can start the meeting. He’s zoned out a little bit, staring in Grantaire’s general direction, lost in thoughts of fingertips, carefully wrapped in bandages, scraping along his own skin. 

And suddenly, he’s not alone at the table.

He blinks and looks up. His breath sticks in his throat.

It’s Grantaire. He’s got an easy smile tugging at his lips, something mocking in his eyes.  “Hey.”

Enjolras frowns, faintly embarrassed at himself. He hadn’t even noticed Grantaire getting up. “Hey. Can I help you?”

Grantaire shrugs and places his hands on the table, fingers spread out. Enjolras follows their movements, throat bobbing as he swallows. Curiosity burns hotter in him. “Saw you staring.”

The hot burn of curiosity becomes a hot burn of awkwardness in his cheeks. “You-- I wasn’t staring,” he defends.

Grantaire chuckles to himself. “You were.”

There is a pause.

“Maybe.”

Another pause, and Enjolras feels the need to explain himself.

“I-- I was curious. Couldn’t help it. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Grantaire hums, leaning back in the chair. His hands remain on the table. “Curious about what? My fingers?”

Enjolras, still blushing, nods.

“I play guitar,” Grantaire explains, and Enjolras’ eyebrows go up. “Well, I’ve started to. And it’s hard on the fingers. Also, I’ve taken to a very obscure form of bracelet-making with rather abrasive hemp strings. _And_ , I was taking a sculpture out of the kiln and I was stupid enough not to wear good gloves and it burnt me a little. Also, I was lighting a cigarette and I missed. So. All of that conspired, and…” He shrugs, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. 

“Oh,” Enjolras says, feeling as though a weight has been lifted off his chest. “Okay.”

“Does that satisfy your curiousity?” Grantaire chuckles.

“Yes, thank you,” Enjolras answers stiffly, feeling slightly as though he is being made fun of.

Grantaire just grins in response, and Enjolras huffs.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“ _What_?”

“Jesus, Enjolras, nothing. What, you think you’re the only one that’s allowed to randomly stare?”

Enjolras blinks. He hadn’t thought of it like that. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, I suppose.”

“Evidently,” Grantaire says, tone lofty. His grin softens and becomes a smirk. “So.”

“So?”

“Maybe I’m curious, too.”

Enjolras cocks up an eyebrow. “About what?”

Grantaire shrugs, getting up from the chair. “All sorts of things. Let’s get coffee after this, and I’ll ask you. I’m sure that scar behind your ear has a great backstory.” 

And with that, he turns and swishes away, back to his own chair beside Bahorel.

Enjolras stares after him, something warm spreading through his chest. 

Coffee.

Okay. 

Coffee… with Grantaire. 

More than okay. 

A lot more, actually, and he can barely focus during the meeting, and the warmth in his chest is burning even more than the curiosity did.

Grantaire smiles at him, and he catches fire.


End file.
